Back to the Start
by shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod
Summary: Tag/Coda to 15x06. Being back in the real world after spending an eternity in hell is a shock to Eileen. Thankfully, due to some shared experiences, Sam is able to understand some of what she's going through and does his best to help.


_Spoilers for 15x06. Oh man, I loved this episode. I almost cried when Eileen died, and almost cried again from sheer happiness after this episode aired. She and Sam deserve some happiness, as friends or as partners or whatever comes next. And if the writers decide to kill her off in two episodes again or later this season...there'll be some problems. *ahem* meanwhile, hope you guys enjoy! Picks up right where the episode left off, just some supportive Sam comforting Eileen, who really needs it. Can be read platonically or something more I guess, depends on how much you want to pick up on ;) _

_Still don't own the show or the characters. Story title inspired by Coldplay's 'The Scientist'. If the story seems familiar, I took it down to edit it and am reposting, explained in the A/N at the bottom. Thank you for reading!_

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The bunker is quiet. Not that Eileen should be surprised, considering what plane of existence she's on now. Everything is quiet. It's a shock to her system, honestly. She can feel a vibration in the air ever so slightly when the bunker's heating system kicks in, but that's it. There's just the silence ringing in her ears that she dealt with for decades before spending an eternity more in hell.

The walls are sturdy and warded. If the Winchesters are comfortable enough to call this place home, then it's safe. She knows that.

But she can't accept it.

It's too quiet. That's the main problem. Something changed when she was in hell. She's not sure of the exact reason, either a soul not being tied to a physical body, or the demons just wanting her to hear their taunts, or something much more complex that she's not mentally equipped to handle. But she could hear in hell, like the injury she had suffered when she was a baby had never happened. Like it didn't leave a mark on her soul like it had on her body.

She hadn't gotten to enjoy it, not at all, and for the first few days the demons didn't have to do much to her to make her scream. The new sensory information was enough to do that, and none of it was any degree of pleasant. She was surrounded by other people's screams, deep booms from further in hell, and constant noises of metal being sharpened. There was no getting away from it.

Then there came the demon's taunts. The first words she ever remembers hearing in her whole life are that of a demon telling her how lucky she is to be tortured by him. It all went downhill from there.

In-between the sessions, they'd put her in a cell where she could listen in. Sometimes there would be another person in there too. If they didn't seem too sadistic, they'd share a few sentences back and forth before the demons noticed and dragged them apart. It had taken years, but one woman was in a similar boat to Eileen.

She had been blind in life after an accident in her teens, and was probably in hell for pushing her boyfriend down the stairs. She maintained that it had been an accident, but Eileen isn't quite so sure. Not that she voices it though. Her own voice too, she can hear that for the first time, not just the feeling that she was creating vibrations.

But the woman could see in hell. She could see all the horrors, the red and black colors, the weapons the demons used on everyone. She confided in Eileen that she almost wished her sight hadn't come back in hell. Maybe some of it would have been easier.

Eileen found it hard to disagree.

She met a few others in her decades in hell with similar stories. If it had been a physical ailment, they were cured of it when they were dragged downstairs. Cancer, a missing limb, a fatal gunshot wound. None of them stayed. It backed up her theory that it was tied to their souls, since their physical bodies didn't obey the laws of anything in the pit. They were ripped apart and pieced back together like magic on a daily basis.

It wasn't something anyone could explain.

Since she's been back, she hasn't wanted to dwell on it too much. She's been almost glad to have the quiet again. Silence she knows how to work with. She can't hear screams or taunts or knives being sharpened on rough stones. It's been so long since she's had space in her own head that she's forgotten what quiet is like. But she also regrets that she'll never hear some of the simpler things in actual life. The wind, water from a tap, birds, the Winchesters' voices. Their real voices, not spouted by a demon wearing their faces to mess with her.

It's conflicting and all filling her head up with the noise she's been so trying to avoid. So she tries to focus on the things around her instead.

The blanket is soft around her, the bed not too springy, and the pillow is supportive. The extra clothes Sam got her too are comfortable. They're all things she never thought she would experience again. Not, at least, in a way that wasn't a figment of her imagination about to be ripped from her grasp the second a demon saw her smiling.

It wasn't bad enough that she was a hunter in hell. Eileen knew the Winchesters, and all the hellspawn downstairs had known it. Knowing the brothers had its obvious upsides, but in hell when they didn't know she was down there, the bad far outweighed the good.

Eileen shudders just thinking about it and wraps the blanket around her tighter. She's determined to not think about it. She told Sam earlier that it was too early to talk about it, and that's true, but she doesn't even want to think about it. But after so long, it's the only thing there is to think about.

She goes back to looking around the room. It's fairly sparse, having just been an empty guest room. But the bricks and the wood make it warm and it's clear that with some care, it could become a place of real safety. That was, if she were to stay.

She's kept the lights on. Sam didn't turn them off when he said goodnight, probably because he knows what it's like. His offer, a comfort much like the blanket currently wrapped around her, was very much still on the table. She knew about Dean's past in hell, too. Some of the demons had been quite chatty. But she couldn't reconcile what they had told her with the man she had seen save lives and give everything for his brother. Hell changes everyone, she supposes, and if there are any people that will understand, it's them.

She does her best to get comfortable, to steady her breathing (when was the last time she had to subconsciously worry about that?), to close her eyes and relax. Every time she does it, though, it's as if she's falling through the mattress. Down past the ground, past the fire, back into the torture chamber she had been subjected to.

Eileen wonders if the floor would be any better, but the thought of cold, hard ground is no more helpful. She'll make it work in the bed, then.

The heater in the room clicks off and she feels as the slight vibration settles and dies. For a moment it soothes the part of her brain that won't stop screaming about how quiet it is and how that's such a bad thing and how any moment now a demon will snap her out of this good dream and laugh sadistically in her face.

It's happened before. Countless times. They'll lull her into a sense of security where she thinks she's been rescued, usually by the Winchesters or Sam alone. As soon as she starts to believe that somehow it's happened, the spark of hope in her chest gets snuffed out and her nose fills with sulfur. Every time.

But it's never been this detailed, never felt this real.

In the space the heater left, heavier rhythmic vibrations shudder from the hallway. Footsteps. They're heavy, so it must be Dean then. He makes them softer as he passes by her room, but doesn't peek in to see why the lights are still on. Still, she catches a flash of him as he passes by her door, which had been left cracked open. He then continues at his normal pace when he's a decent enough distance away.

Sam has to pass by the guest room to get to his own, she knows, but she doesn't hear him quite yet. He's got to be exhausted from the day too, both emotionally and physically. She's honestly surprised that the witches didn't really break any of his ribs. He's still in pain, obviously, but apparently it's not life threatening.

She's grateful for it.

Eileen unwinds herself from the blankets just a little and props herself up to watch the door. She wonders how much sleep he'll get tonight, if at all. Maybe, just maybe, she hopes, if she can catch him a few words would help them both. It's unlikely to hurt, at least.

She notices when he walks down about a minute later, his footfalls lighter than Dean's. He slows down by her door and as she watches, takes a peek in. He startles back, having not expected to be caught doing so. Eileen just smiles, letting him know silently that it's alright.

"Hi, Sam," she gives him an official greeting and welcome in.

He immediately smiles back at her and pushes the door open a little more so he can step into the threshold. "Thought you'd be asleep, just wanted to check in," he explains, almost sheepishly. "Everything alright?"

He knows it can't possibly be, but there it is again, an offer on the table to be of whatever help he can. For a split second Eileen thinks to say yes, but then the more desperate part of her brain wins out. The part that's afraid to be alone in the silence and after so many years or being terrified, she's tired of it.

"Not really," she admits and draws herself up to lean against the headboard.

Sam's smile vanishes and his face twists in concern. He crosses the room in a few steps and hesitates before sitting on the edge of the bed so he doesn't tower over her while they talk. "Not from the spell, I hope? Is everything…feeling okay?" Sam gestures to all of her.

Eileen nods at that. Her physical form seems to be sticking, and she'd like to keep it that way. She'll have to talk to him about his use of magic later. Because, quite simply, it's amazing and he seems to have a knack for it. The witch wouldn't have left everything for him if she didn't see something in him. She thinks about asking him about her theory too, but that can wait for another day. "What you said earlier…" she trails off and looks between him and the soft sheets that she can actually feel, "how long did it take? To get used to being back?"

There's a line of worry that creases his forehead and he purses his lips, which he only does when he's really thinking about something serious. "A long time. Sometimes I still think I'm working out of it," Sam shakes his head. "Sorry I couldn't tell you something more optimistic. But it does get better."

She watches his lips carefully, a skill she had let slip only slightly in the decades prior. But it's easy to pick up on again, even without her hearing, and Sam tends to articulate his words more than his brother, which makes them easier to decipher.

"I appreciate the honesty," she replies genuinely. She appreciates it much more than a placation. Honesty doesn't lessen her own experiences or make her feel that she should just be okay with having spent the last however many decades in hell. And Sam understands that, which is probably the reason he gave the answer he did.

"What helped?" She's looking for anything. Any sort of lifeline or technique, anything to ease her back into this realm of being. This is only the first few hours of new life, and she can already tell that she has a long road ahead of her to get back to the way things used to be. If that's even possible anymore.

Sam takes a few moments to think it over. "Dean most of all. He was always there, still is. Telling me things I forgot to tell myself, like a life raft when I thought I could drown in everything." He's very serious as he says it, which speaks volumes as to how much having his brother there really means to him. "Having someone there, it helped."

He looks back to her on that, with something like hope in his expression too, like he's asking if she wants him to be that person for her.

She can't think of anyone better, but she doesn't quite know how to phrase it.

"I can see why," she smiles slightly.

Sam clears his throat. "I got out in the world. Jogging, driving, going to the library to research, hell, even shopping. Different things to remind me that the world out here is a lot bigger and more real than the one downstairs."

Eileen imagines that could help too. She'll have to give a few of those a try when a little more time has passed. The demons weren't great at creating complex stories that involved new people. They were usually isolated incidents with just a few people Eileen knew, and in a quiet part of whatever fake world they had made up. There was nothing like that in the real world.

"Sleeping though," Sam starts. Eileen can tell he says it quietly by the way his whole face seems to drop and his lips move less. "That took the longest to get used to again. It was all too…dark, too strange, like I'd fall asleep and end up, you know."

Eileen nods a little just to herself but he doesn't really see it, caught up in whatever he's remembering. "And I don't know if it's like that for you, I hope it doesn't get that bad, and it's okay if you don't want to talk, I get it, believe me, I do. Dean usually," he smiles at the thought, "he'd turn on the TV and let it run quietly if we were in a motel. Light, sound, it worked wonders. Or getting into a book. Or just having him in the room. If you want to stay," he pauses and really looks at her and she does her best to not look surprised, "we could get a small TV in here if you think it would help, program it to show the subtitles. That way you could at least get the images and something to read."

He's not just offering her an olive branch. He's offering her a tree. One she can plant here and watch grow into a new life. A better life. She can't help but wonder how much simpler it could've been three years ago. If only.

"Maybe just for a little?" She doesn't want to overstay any welcome, but she can't imagine that Dean would send her packing, and Sam definitely wouldn't. "At least until I can figure something, everything, out?"

Sam genuinely smiles at that, like he was hoping that was what she would land on. "However long you want or need. And don't worry about Dean either, he'll be fine with anything," he reassures quickly, tracking her line of thought without her having to say a word.

And Eileen is endlessly grateful for it. For not just giving her a second shot, but for opening up their home, offering to take her in. It's more than anyone's ever done for her.

She signs a 'thank you', putting as much meaning into it as she can, and lets her hand fall against the sheets. Sam looks at it for a second, making sure it's okay, before he covers it with his own. It's almost comically bigger than hers, calloused from years on the job, and probably scarred if she looked hard enough. But it's warm. Safe. Solid. That's what matters.

It's the same hand that hers passed through earlier in the day, and then held just hours later, the first real physical thing she had to hold onto in an eternity.

"We're glad you're here. I'm glad you're here," Sam adds for clarification, as if that was needed, and it's enough to make tears sting in her eyes.

She moves her hand so she can grip his and hold on like a lifeline. He looks conflicted for a second, deciding between a few courses of action before he points with his free hand towards the bed. "May I?" he asks.

Eileen is quick to scoot over, giving him space so he can sit up propped against the pillows like her. He doesn't disengage their hands, so neither does she.

"Since we both probably won't get much sleep," Sam smiles at her, a trace of dimples across his cheeks to show that it's really alright with him, "I could catch you up on a few mundane events that happened over the past few years?"

He doesn't have to do this. Any of this. He didn't have to brush up on sign language or try to find a way to save her or stick around after the fact. But he did and here he is.

She doesn't trust her voice not to crack so she just nods and watches as he thinks about what to say next.

He starts with the movies. Some good, some bad, three he and Dean managed to see in theaters, some from online, some his brother pirated (ahem, borrowed). He runs aimlessly through some of the plot details, if she may like it, what he thought. It's the best type of distraction. It's not related to hell or hunting or being recently brought back to life.

It just is life.

He's very articulate with his speech, still over-exaggerates his lips so she can catch most of what he's saying even if she zones out for a moment. He lets go of her hand to get a few signs across, and returns it right after. She's impressed and mesmerized all at the same time. She's comfortable watching him, and he's doing what she doubts no one else could.

Eventually she starts to feel the decades without sleep wearing on her. Sam's been talking for quite a while now, but he hasn't slowed down. He alternates between looking at her and smiling and glancing at other portions of the room.

He keeps talking as she slides down and gets comfortable in a more horizontal position. She lies face up for a minute, staring blearily at the blank ceiling. The more she tries to relax, the more she wants to be connected to whatever sound Sam's creating for her. Eventually, Eileen turns over, leaning up against Sam's side to rest her head in the crook of his arm.

His arm is around her almost instantly, bringing her in closer, a physical promise of protection from whatever may be trying to get her in the dark. It loops around her back and he rests his hand easily on her waist. He has her back, literally.

The thought makes her smile.

Sam keeps talking.

She isn't sure what he's saying anymore, but she can feel it reverberating in his chest, lighter than she would imagine Dean's, but comforting all the same. In the space where he takes breaths and thinks of what to say next, she can hear his heart beat, steady and strong and rhythmic.

The world isn't quiet any more.

And while Eileen doesn't fall asleep, she gets close, and that's good enough for her. She finds the closest thing to peace that she's gotten in decades. When Sam's voice finally drops off, she guesses that he finally succumbed to sleep too. She can still feel his voice echoing in her bones. That'll be enough to keep the silence at bay.

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_Hopefully this version does more justice to the characters. I had incorrectly thought that Eileen was wearing some form of hearing aids when she came back into her physical body, but I rewatched the episode and I was wrong. For that, I apologize. I forgot that she doesn't because she's just such a great lip reader and all around communicator. Also, hopefully the rationale behind everything in hell makes sense. They never said it specifically, but downstairs they aren't really bound by the laws of anything physical in the real world, and as sadistic as it is I doubt the demons would have much 'fun' taunting someone that can't hear or see, etc. So going off Dean's experience and some stuff Bobby said from season 8, I landed with this explanation. If anyone could let me know if these changes were worthwhile or made more sense, or still make no sense, it would be greatly appreciated :)_


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